MEANWHILE, Denham and Ella been dragged
in an entirely different direction by the two ruffians who conducted
them forth into the woods. Jessie Kirkpatrick, whom they soon
discovered to be none of the Holford family, but only the daughter
of the old servant, being kept, together with her mother, and
set to provide supper for the rebels, under threat of being shot
if they hesitated in so doing.

"You may help yourselves, you ruffians," the sturdy
old woman had said, setting herself resolutely down in a chair,
as soon as they released her arms. "The things in the house
is none o' mine, and I'll set no supper, save for my master and
his bairns. If you shoot me honest, I'd prefer it to being spared
dishonest. And oh!" she added, bursting out into a wail
of sorrow, "it's thankful I'd have been to have been shot,
sooner nor have seen the blessed childer dragged out of their
father's house, this gate." And the old nurse threw her
apron over her head, and wept bitterly, perfectly regardless
of the threats and curses the men showered upon her. Jessie,
however, was more timid, possibly also more self-interested,
and therefore more compliant: she was attached tithe family in
a calm and moderate way, but she had no inclination to risk her
life or invite rough usage by such scrupulous fidelity as her
mother's. And the men, finding the pretty daughter willing to
attend to their wants, contented themselves with her services,
and left the old woman to herself.

But to return to Denham and his younger sister. They were
left not in the heart of the forest, like poor Minnie, but in
the centre of a wide meadow, some hundred acres in extent, which,
covered with one unvarying sheet of snow, looked like a white
lake in the centre of the black, snow-crowned forest. Not that
there was light to see anything distinctly at the time when Denham
and Ella found themselves deserted there by their rough conductor,
but they knew the spot well, and insomuch were better off than
their sister and little brother.

Denham's first thought was of Minnie, as Minnie's had been
of Denham. Both felt that in union of thought and aid would be
strength, and both were tenderly anxious for each other. But
Denham's lusty shouts of "Minnie! Minnie!" found no
more response than hers had done. Then they walked on a little
way towards a narrow, rapid creek, that even in this icy time
hurried along so rapidly as to escape being frozen.

"Denham, I see something moving," said Ella, after
a minute or two's silence, during which time they had been plodding
diligently on through the deep snow. They were both of them tolerably
well clothed, for while Minnie had been busy dressing little
Harry, Ella, with her sister's occasional assistance, had slipped
on a fair supply of warm garments, and they did not consequently
suffer much in this night-walk, cold though the beaver-meadow
was.

"It's a horse, and something behind it!" joyfully
exclaimed Denham, after looking for a moment in the direction
in which his sister had pointed. He gave another loud shout,
and, to his no small joy, it was answered by a voice so peculiar,
that there was no mistaking it even at that distance.

"It's Ichabod Clapshaw, Denham," said little Ella.
"I think he'll be good to us, queer though he is."

In a few minutes the horse and sleigh were alongside of the
two children. Ichabod gave a whistle surprise at beholding the
two young Holfords in the middle of the beaver-meadow at this
time of night, and for a minute or so seemed too much astonished
to make any further remark. Then he said, drily enough, and with
his own peculiar Yankee drawl, "Guess it's pretty considerable
late, Denham, for you and Ella to be out. What's the reason you're
not to hum?"

In a few words Denham gave him a hasty account of what had
befallen them, while Ichabod employed himself in lifting little
Ella into the sleigh, and settling an undressed deer-robe comfortably
about her.

"Humph!" grunted the American, when Denham had finished;
"and so they've fixed it that way, have they, the eternal
villains, the ----------;" and Ichabod, in his wrathful
indignation, continued to pour forth on them a string of strange
epithets, not unmixed with oaths and curses as strange, which
none but an American would even so much as have thought of.

"Ichabod," said Denham, with more dignity than one
might have expected from one so young, "pray do not speak
in that way. You should not use those violent expressions of
any one, not even of enemies and bad men. And besides, they are
not fit for my sister to hear."

"Hold yer impudence, young 'un," said Ichabod, roughly,
but good-humouredly, 'sand come 'long. I mean to drop them 'ere
words, I do, for the sake of that gal Minnie. Yes," he added,
as he gathered up the reins, and prepared to drive back again
from whence he came with the two children, "I'd do a sightr
o' disagreeable things rather nor vex her."

"But, Ichabod," said Denham, anxiously, "there
is the worst of it. Minnie is in the forest, too, somewhere,
for they dragged her out of the house-door just before me; but
where she is I do not know. Pray do not take us home to your
place till we have found her."

"Worse nor useless, Denham, to look for her, without
lights, in the forest, when it's as dark as the blind man's eyes
to-night. I come across to help at the fire, which I reckon is
over to John Kirkpatrick's, and I did not calculate to bring
lanterns along to see a blazing house by."

"Cheer up," he added, seeing Denham cover his face
with his hands with a gesture of despair, " we'll be to
hum spry 'nough, and my old woman 'll take care of Ella here
while we go and look for t'other ten."

Ichabod's clearing lay a little way to the north side of the
beaver-meadow and its belt of forest. And having awoke his wife
Priscilla,--commonly called Cilly Clapshaw, a name whose libellous
sound was by no means in accordance with the dame's shrewd character,--he
consigned Ella to her care, and started out again with Denham,
a long lad of his, called Job, and a farm 'help,' to look for
the missing ones. They took with them lanterns, and a couple
of guns, in consideration of the company they might possibly
fall in with on their way, and for hours they searched the woods
in all directions in the hope of finding her, but all with no
avail.

The morning broke at last,--a black, cold day; the same keen,
cutting wind still blew over the frozen snow, and dark grey clouds
covered the sky. They had just turned back along one of the forest
tracks which they had pursued until it came out by the side of
the Otonabee, without finding any trace of steps or any marks
of the lost Minnie, when they saw a cutter, drawn by a fine grey
horse, trotting briskly along the road before them.

"Uncle Henry's grey mare!" exclaimed Denham.

"And I guess 'tis Holford himself driving," added
Ichabod.

Poor Denham was almost overcome with the rush of conflicting
feelings. It was a terrible meeting this, for he could see by
his father's joyous aspect and unclouded brow that he as yet
knew nothing of the calamity which had befallen his family.

"Denham, my dear boy," he exclaimed, as he leaped
from the cutter and affectionately greeted his son, "why
I thought to surprise you all at breakfast. I have spent the
night at Uncle Henry's, not liking to knock you all up so late
last night, for it was late when we arrived. But you are beforehand
with me."

Denham had turned his face hastily from his father to hide
his choking tears, and was making a feint at tightening a buckle
in the grey mare's harness. How should he break the dreadful
news? Ichabod spared him the painful task.

"I'm glad to see yer to hum, Holford," he said gravely;
"and to tell yer the truth it's time you were, for matters
isn't jist all right up there. We're on a grave bit of a job,
Holford, and the sooner you know it the better. It's jist no
more nor less than that your gal Minnie's missin', and it's been
a considerable snowy night for a delicate young critter like
her to be out."

He would not tell him any more of the bad news just then;--that
Harry was also with Minnie, that the insurgents had broken into
his house, and, as they had every reason to believe, had burnt
John Kirkpatrick's farm, were additional evil tidings which he
would hear but too soon. At first the poor father seemed paralyzed
by the suddenness of the stroke, but in a short time his manly
energy gathered itself together, and he turned back with the
melancholy and disheartened searching party, to make yet another
effort towards his daughter's recovery. No one spoke much after
that; there were lines of stern sorrow already marked on Mr.
Holford's face which kept all the rest of the anxious and mournful
little band more silent even than before.

In the chilly light of dawn they now perceived track which
had escaped them by the partial help of their lanterns, and following
these they came at last to a spot where one of the footsteps,
evidently the resolute, firm steps of a strong man, turned back
again and went in the direction of Weston Farm.

"They left her here," whispered Denham to Ichabod,
"as they did Ella and me in the beaver-meadow."

Ichabod nodded, and quietly but quickly they pursued the slurred,
uncertain tracks left by the smaller and weaker feet which had
also travelled this dreary path. They had not gone very far upon
this fainter track when Ichabod, who was in the front of the
party, suddenly stopped. Denham, who was immediately behind him,
guessed with a sudden heavy thrill at his heart what it was that
he had found; with a great effort be stepped forward to Ichabod's
side, and then he also stood still. Thus, one by one they gathered
round in a little circle, utterly stunned at the scene before
their feet. There in the cold grey morning light she lay, her
little white-garmented figure hardly discernible from the white
couch on which she rested, whose snowy covering had drifted up
over her feet, and lightly powdered over the warm cloak which
was yet closely wrapped round the sleeping Harry. Yes, there
they both lay sleeping still,--but what a different sleep! what
a different aspect the two faces wore! The boy's nearly-covered
cheek so fresh and glowing; hers, as it lay against the cold
snow, so still, and pale, and marble-like. No one could have
a moment's doubt that hers was the sleep from which she would
never wake here. But oh, that smile upon her lips; that told
plainly enough that her waking-place would be where "the
pure in heart shall see God."

"If ever any one went to heaven out of this world, she's
gone there," said Ichabod, chokingly.

Those were the only words spoken by any of them.

They roused little Harry gently up, and put him in the cutter
with Job and the farm 'help;' then sadly and reverently they
lifted the white-robed figure of the frozen girl, and placed
it in Ichabod's sleigh; Mr. Holford and Denham walking mute beside
it, while Ichabod led the horse by the rein.

Thus, solemnly and quietly, they went back to what was left
of Weston Farm.